


Fresh Blood

by Szept



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Child Soldiers, Drama, Gen, Hana really isn't the best adjusted individual out there, Omnic Racism, PTSD.Va, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, coping? what's coping?, hana-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9336284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szept/pseuds/Szept
Summary: Hana is simply what the world has made her.It's a cruel, harsh world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Counting the Dead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8127532) by [pariahpirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pariahpirate/pseuds/pariahpirate). 



> I wanted to try my hand at writing an unadjusted Hana story ever since reading pariahpirate's _Counting the Dead_. Well, it's finally here, after a month of figuring out where to take this.
> 
> There will not be screaming and crying at night here, those aren't the issues Hana will have. And that, I suppose, is her biggest problem of all.

"You're still playing?"

Hana turns her head sharply towards the source of the whisper, a slightly panicked expression painting itself on her face in the pale light of her phone.

"And you're still not asleep?" She squeaks, her voice barely above a whisper. It's a good thing the surprise squeezed her throat - the last thing the girl needs tonight is for the rest of her teammates to stir awake at her outburst.

The other girl throws her covers back. "I- I gotta go to the bathroom."

 _To cry again?_ Hana doesn't say. She learned of the benefits to keeping silent long ago. Besides, there are more pressing issues than a recruit bawling her eyes out in the bathroom at night.

It's only 01:43. Too early, too damn early. She's calculated it, time and time again. Her timing must be immaculate if she's going to have a chance at this. She'll only have a two, maybe three minutes long window. Any longer than that and... well, she doesn't really have a backup plan. There's no point to having one.

She doesn't say another word, choosing to let the younger (officially, even!) girl leave without a word of reassurance. It doesn't matter, anyway. Neither of them will be here in a month - the last to keep crying are the first to go.

The moment she hears the door quietly click after the recruit, she quietly slips out from under her covers. It's too early, but when has a battle ever gone according to a plan? It's better she risks being seen outside, than having to deal with the girl if she returns before 01:50.

The pilot grabs a backpack from under her bunk. It's a touch too light for her liking, but there aren't many possessions that she chose to take - that she can take. Her laptop, her phone, all of her accounts (all of her friends) - it's all trackable - all of her life is, and so must be left behind. The amount of things she can take is pathetically small. A a few sets of clothes she hasn't yet outgrown since she last went shopping for them, along with a spare suit, a few trinkets, and the one electronic device that she was given for this specific occasion.

She'd trade it all for her phone, if only for the playlist she accumulated on the device.

Hana kicks her pyjamas under the bunk once she doffs the set, and with practised ease, slips into the always-ready MEKA suit. A few seconds pass in silence as her hand hovers over her access card, before the girl grimaces and snatches the thing up. She's made the decision weeks ago – perhaps even longer than that, without knowing. She's not going to die without ever making a difference. There are others who'll take her place, always more, and it never makes a difference. Damn good job they do fighting – here's a medal to go with the corpse...

They should've long nuked the fucking Monster and cut their losses. Lets see how it'd adapt to that!

Even the numbers make sense. How many lives were lost because of the Omnic, already? The MEKA could easily tie the Monster down long enough to evacuate most of the population of any coastal city as to avoid too many casualties. She'd even volunteer.

But dying to keep the status quo... there are better ways to spend her life.

She doesn't look at her sleeping teammates as she steps outside of their room. They're tolerable, most of the time, but she can't say they ever really bonded, not like she did with her original squad – none of them ever held it against her that she records their missions. These guys, however? They take it all so seriously, as if it changed whether they'll survive their next engagement or not. They can waste the rest of their lives with a stick up their ass all they want. Hana knows better.

The teen doesn't try being particularly stealthy on her way to the exit. How does one sneak around empty hallways, anyway? It should be fine as long as she doesn't make a ruckus. The poor sap on today camera duty would only notice her if she stepped into the control room – Hana would know. She beat the newest Puzzle Quest three times this year, playing only in the sec-room.

Eun managed a four, before the last engagement – a respectful feat. She fully plans to add the tidbit onto his gravestone if she ever gets the chance to return. He'd bust a gut if he knew.

She stops before the door to the outside. It's still some thirteen minutes before the guard shift. Ugh, she had planned to do this closer to that moment, when the only thing left on the current watchers' minds would be the end of their shift. Alas – _somebody_ had to cry her eyes out in the middle of the night. She'll never get this. It's not like she's pleased to have been drafted, either, but she never cried about it.

Anticipation twirling in her stomach, Hana slowly creaks the door open to take a peek at the outside. There aren't usually any guards patrolling around the MEKA crew living quarters, but going in without any scouting is a mistake she's not made since she first climbed to gold ladder. There should only be a few guards between her and the hangar. Almost strangely few. Then again, nobody ever even tried to steal a MEKA, and the girl can't imagine an outsider sneaking into the base without ticking off at least one of the many sensors around the site, either. Even then, Hana has no idea how much effort it'd take to hack one of the mechs, she certainly couldn't do it.

Good thing she's a pilot, then. She's curious what new security measures will be introduced after tonight.

Not a concern of hers, anymore. There had been desertions before, of course there were. Nobody tried to run with their MEKA, though. It's understandable, really – how is one supposed to remain hidden on the run with a machine like that? She bets her teammates don't usually have access to a GPS signal disruptor, either. Still, the teen isn't sure she could just leave her baby on its own like that, they've been through so much together.

She steps out of the building, into the cool night, still on the lookout for any people. There are some, far away, at the edge of the compound – but they seem to be turned outwards. Which is just as well, getting spotted this early on would be plain embarrassing, in addition to almost certainly ruining her escape. Getting her MEKA relies entirely on her not being pursued when she approaches the guards there, and since all her plans hinge on managing to retrieve it...

She quickens her pace, careful not to actually run, however. She shouldn't be out at this hour, but the guys outside don't know who's on duty tonight. It might buy her a minute or two if they see her just walking, the time they'll take to check on her, instead of immediately calling an alarm after seeing a running pilot in the middle of the night.

Hana heads straight for the spaces in-between buildings which she knows hide no cameras. The girl isn't quite sure whether someone more dutiful than any of her teammates might be manning the feeds. Better safe than sorry. She needs to buy as much time as possible before making her daring escape. There's no point in stealth once she gets into her MEKA, but till then? Well, she can't run an 60km/h like her baby does, she can't even outrun the dogs.

Aaand there it is, the hangar. Around thirty metres of flat ground ahead. One guard by the entrance, another one – no, two - making rounds by the structure's sides. Hana crouches down between the mess-hall and the regular soldiers' sleeping quarters. Long seconds tick by as she looks for a pattern in the guards' routes, counting the time it takes them to come back into her sights. If she gets it right, she'll have some ten or fifteen seconds to deal with the one standing still. Ten seconds take him down, open the hangar, and get to her robot. EZ.

No chance she can cross the distance unseen. Her backpack must look suspicious, too. The soldiers won't attack her on sight, though. Not should they alert anyone without first speaking with her, that's her hope, anyway.

Now to wait the remaining few minutes before she follows through with the plan. How much time has passed? Five or six minutes since she got up? She'll need four to get to the jet and it will only be there for a few minutes after 02:00. She'd best wait five more minutes before she begins. If she arrives at the LZ too early, her tail might catch up. And that'd be game over, she'd been told as much – nobody can see them together. Just as well, it means they don't accept newbies in. You can't pull your weight, you're out.

Hana takes in a calming breath, and starts counting. She really should've bought a watch instead of relying on her phone for keeping track of time. Look at her now, XXI century and she needs to count minutes in her head.

The girl readies her access card before rising to her full height once she ticks the last second off the countdown.

_Game face, on._

Her pace steady and sure, and her body brimming with a familiar anticipation, she walks up to the soldier in front of the hangar. The soldiers catch the sight of her right away, but thankfully, don't see the need to approach her – she's already walking up to one of them, he'll handle her. The man in question patiently waits as she's approaching, not quite at ease but not seeming tense either.

She stops at an arms reach away from him, and lets the man open his mouth to ask whatever question he has-

"Pilot-"

-before she strikes out with a kick to his groin, making the guard cough out a pained breath.

Heh. Cheap shot - as valid tactic as any - only salty losers say otherwise. Especially when there's no chance of taking an opponent straight on.

She follows up with a strike to his unprotected chin, the man left momentarily exposed to her attacks. She might not be anywhere near as strong as him, but what strength she has is enough to jolt his head backwards, and the rest of his body along with it as the soldier staggers and slumps to his knees.

Damn, she'd hoped it'd knock him right out, but there's no time to continue, the others will be here in a moment - she only needs a few seconds anyway.

Hana wastes none of those in running up to the small door of the hangar, and swiping her card against the code reader, quickly followed up by the retina scan. A click of a cocked weapon sounds behind her back. Fuck.

The pilot barrels through the door the very moment a bullet pierces her shin, but still manages to slam the door behind her, even as she's falling to her knees.

"Shibal!" Fuck, this hurts! Not the worst she's been through, far from it, but it doesn't mean she likes pain.

She bites down on her teeth as she forces herself off the ground, trying not to put too much strain on her wounded leg. There aren't seconds to spare. She has to get inside her MEKA, and quick. As quick as she can hobble, anyway.

She shakes the backpack off her back to pull the disruptor from it. She hopes it'll work. It'd be kinda funny if it didn't, in the _she's so fucked it's funny_ way. Would that really matter though? If she's caught, they're going to court-martial her and, well, she'd likely be put in a penal company. Fun times, for however long she'd survive there – probably till her first engagement. Penal companies suck.

Hana hangs her bag on her mech's arm just as the door to the hangar swing open once again. Good luck to them. They'll need it if they want to stop her, now.

The girl hastily pulls herself into the MEKA, her leg pulsing painfully with every move. The machine automatically begins the authorization processes once she settles in her spot – a facial recognition program. There used to be a voice recognition password too, once, before it's proven fatal for some of the pilots when it took too long to activate the replacement units on the battlefield.

Hana places the signal disruptor into her drink slot as the machine comes whirring to life. It fits... huh, perfectly. Here's to hoping it works! She really can't do much more than hope for the best at this point. No amount of skill on her part can nullify the GPS tracking and its redundancies. Three, she thinks, but who knows - she read the manual a year ago.

The girl grins when the soldiers, all three of them, finally catch up to her, only to be knocked out of the way along with the other mechs as the pilot slams on the boosters to gain the necessary speed to blast through the door she came through - it's the weakest part of the wall. She pays the gunfire that comes after her no mind, they'd need a rocket launcher to get past her armour, and the most their riffles can do is scratch her paint.

The impact rattles the girl inside the MEKA, making her clench her teeth as the pain in her leg flares up. At least her backpack stayed where she put it, although one of the straps gave. Eh, she always wore it on one shoulder, anyway.

Okay! Now to execute the rest of her plan before-

The sound of the alarm brings the vicious smile back onto Hana's face. Any longer and she'd have thought the guy on the console fell asleep. Pft - what wouldn't she give to see how much shit they'd get into if that actually happened.

The girl directs her MEKA to the route she chose a good week ago. The straightforward one. Zigzagging and evading would only be necessary if there wasn't a transport at the end – in which case she'd be fucked anyhow, so it doesn't matter either way. Oh, the commander's gonna have a stroke once he hears a MEKA has been stolen via a jet. It's one thing to have a pilot desert and make off with a unit. It's another thing entirely to have her work with someone who can afford a ship, and can pull of an undetected landing near a military base.

She can't help but scoff at the sight of the closed gate. Like that's gonna stop her – protocol will be protocol though.

Hana casts a speculating look at the automatic turret over the gate as she's closings the distance. It doesn't lock on her, like she predicted it wouldn't. They'd have to remove her ID from the database, first, and there's no way they could've done it so quickly. The techs might not even know it's her, specifically, that's making the escape. Still, those things have a decent range and pack quite a punch. If it got in a shot at her back... Welp, it'd probably blow right through the back armour, her innards, and then burst out the front. She wouldn't even know what hit her before it all ended.

The girl jerks the controllers back, launching her mech in the air, right by the turret, never minding the small arms fire coming from the soldiers at the post – peashooters, what are they even trying to do, tickle her?

The landing forces a grunt out of the pilot. Urgh, stupid leg. No painkillers for her before this mission – she really should've gotten some, now that she thinks about it. Hana clenches her teeth and soldiers onward, set on ignoring the pain. Is that the right direction? She can't even see the treeline in the dark – screw it. She switches her lights on. It'll give away her position, but it's not like she's escaped the motion sensor's range just yet. That's still two kilometres off, which is also where the turrets range ends.

The LZ is some three kilometres away. That leaves her – she checks the time on the HUD – with ample time to get there before her ride leaves, if it's there at all. Wouldn't it be a joke of the decade if this, all of this, was some very elaborate prank of some shitstain jokester. She'll find out soon enough. Sooner rather than later if this is, indeed, a fraud, and her pursuit can get a clear read on her position. Would they hunt her down, trying to recapture the MEKA, or just send a missile after her and be done with it? Hmm, deserters are usually made an example of, so it'd probably be the former.

She's somewhere in the middle of the barren field when she spots a quickly approaching pair of lights from the corner of her eye. Ah, a patrol. This, she can admit, she'd hoped to avoid. Oh, the heavy-cal guns mounted on the vehicles wouldn't pose much of a problem, but can she afford to waste her time on getting to the jeeps? As it happens, they might already be working on revoking her security clearance – and she'd much rather avoid having to evade the automatic defences. Her baby might get a bit banged up if the patrol gets a few shots in, but that's still leagues away from what that monster of a turret can do to her if it gets a lock on.

Once again, Hana activates the boosters, trying to create as much distance between her and the approaching car as possible. It's not enough to escape the fire completely, and every shot that connects with her armour has the girl scowl when the impacts vibrate in her body. The teen is fairly sure they're leaving dents. She hopes there will be a decent workshop where she's going- she'll have to do the paint-job over after this, and scrub the blood from the cockpit, too. Joy.

The energy core coughs, and eases the thrust a moment after the forest finally comes into the light cast by her mech. The rattle of the bullets finally stops as she pilots the machine in between the trees. She's not quite out of the range of the turret yet, but at least any pursuit will have to be either on foot, or be carried out by the other pilots – who are probably just suiting up right now. Okay, the way is... um, somewhere north-east. She just needs to follow the compass and turn off the lights. The sensors extend a bit into the forest, but by now, it's the lights that would attract the most attention. The night isn't so dark that she would miss the glade, anyway. It should be enough to follow the set course.

It's a bit slow, maneuvering between the trees, and her leg now keeps burning whether she bumps into the trunks or not. The adrenaline must have worn off a bit. What a wonderful first impression she'll make – the limping pilot of a bullet-scarred MEKA. Hmm, maybe that's actually better? Blood always made people take her more seriously.

Wait- is her baby purring louder?

Hana powers the machine down, just for a moment. No, the loud hum is definitely not coming from her. It sounds more like - jets? Shit. Did they get air support already? The nearest airport is fifty kilometres inland, they can't have-

It's not coming from above, where...

The girl starts up her MEKA, again, a beaming smile spreading on her lips.

A short moment later, she emerges onto a moonlit glade from between the trees, to find a loudly humming structure occupying a good portion of the space. Huh, the design – what she can see of it - looks vaguely familiar... Yeah! It looks like the same model the organisation used to use before it was disbanded. Heh, five years old and still a league above what the army is using. The stealth must be, at least, otherwise they'd have been shot down.

She snaps to the side at the flash of blue, guns trained at the-

"Whoa- okay, calm down there love!" English? Oh. Oh shit!

"Jwesong hae." _Wait._ "Uh, I mean- sorry."

"Oh, that's fine," the glowing woman replies while curiously peering at her, then back to the tablet in her hand – a photo, _Hana's photo_ visible on it. Right. "We were gettin' a bit anxious, too. Come on, we have to leave. You made good speed but we can't dally for too long."

A flash, and the woman is standing by the ship, leaving Hana staring with a bright, blind spot behind her eyes, something exciting bubbling in her chest. She shakes her head before following inside the now-open ship. There's no mistaking the woman; the glowing device on her chest, strange accent and all. Every kid in the world knows about Tracer and her gaudy crocs! And she just pointed her guns at her! At Tracer! _The_ Tracer!

Hana's thoughts screech to a halt once she steps onto the deck.

"Nice rig, eh?" The pilot turns towards Tracer, the woman looking as if there is something here worth being proud of.

"It's... roomy." Just what the- who the hell designed this thing? Ceilings this high should be criminal on a military vehicle. This thing could fit a freaking tank! Without a way to drive it in or out – is that a basketball set? Who built this?!

"I guess that's one way to put it." Hana turns the mech towards the new voice, belonging to a dark-skinned woman in a suit of blue armour. Wow, her spine hurts just looking at her. "The deck's yours, Tracer. I'll handle things down here."

"Gotcha." The Brit nods at her companion before turning back to the girl. "Good to have you here." The woman is gone before Hana can think to answer, leaving both the knight and the pilot looking at the light trail left in her wake.

"Best get used to it, she does this often." The armoured woman speaks up with a severe expression, before, _somehow_ , straightening up even more, and snapping a curt salute – one that Hana immediately reciprocates from the inside of her machine.

"Welcome to Overwatch, Hana Song."


	2. Chapter 2

A light touch startles Hana out of her half-asleep stupor into full alert. The first thing that her eyes meet are Amari's dark own, staring at her with the same cold intensity that reminds the girl of her captain... She already likes the woman better, though, she doesn't get all pissy when asked for her phone. Granted, her playlist sucks, and most of it is in a language she can't understand a word of, but it's not like the girl wanted it for the lyrics, or even the beat. Anything is better than the silence that descended upon the ship once its pilot went for a nap, having given the controls over to-

The girl's body seizes up, with the exception of her right hand snatching for her gun- her gun that's not there.

For a split second, a cold fist clenches around the pilot's heart, and it's only by luck that she remembers what happened to her weapon before lashing out against the woman in front of her. Hana gave the pistol away, maybe not willingly, but not under duress, either. Safety protocol, Tracer called it.

She doesn't manage to relax again, not under the close scrutiny of Amari's gaze – her little lapse can't have gone unnoticed.

"Yes?" Hana speaks up after taking the earphones out, looking warily around the ship.

"We'll be landing in a moment." Ah, must be why the woman discarded her armour. The MEKA pilot nods thanks to her companion before stretching and properly securing herself in the seat. The older soldier takes a seat by her side a few seconds after, not saying another word. She's been silent most of the way, actually, with her eyes always locked on Hana when she bothered to look. Always with the same unreadable expression.

The landing is probably the smoothest she's ever experienced – she'd have slept right through it. Good thing, too – her stomach is getting uppity about something. The girl wonders if it's the ship or the pilot that the credit should go to. Maybe both. Overwatch only settled for the best.

"Welcome to Watchpoint Gibraltar, agents." Hana's expression darkens the moment the feminine voice sounds from the speakers. Right. _That_. "Winston is on his way. Miss Song, should I call the doctor here?" Patronising pile of rusty shit.

"I'll walk." She won't have her first impression be that of a cripple. It's just a leg, she has another to jump on if need be. The pilot's well aware of her scrawny posture, and she'll be damned if the first someone sees her is not on her own two feet. She's already had to change out of the suit and into her much less impressive fitness uniform, so that they could dress her wound, and since her spare just wouldn't slide on over the bandage. No hard feelings for the guy who shot her - but screw him, seriously.

She doesn't need extras, anyway! She's bad-ass enough to impress on her own!

The pilot manages to stand up, although with some difficulty. Urgh. It feels, accurately enough, like something's pushing from the inside of her leg. Now, not to put too much pressure on her damaged limb-

Hana only realises she's being held after her mind catches up with the fact she hasn't hit the deck.

"You okay, love?"

She blinks away the dark.

"I think my leg fell asleep," the Korean coughs out. It's not that it hurts  _that_  badly - more of a pain in the ass, really. Certainly not bad enough for her to just fall over. She just... she needs a moment. "I'll be fine." She lets herself be pulled up straight, and nods her thanks to Tracer.

"If you're sure." The woman takes a minute step back, only leaving Hana to stand on her own after the girl manages a few steps on her own.

The young pilot pauses on her way to the hatch, in equal part to catch a breath as she does to ask:

"Should I take my stuff with me, or..." Hana trails off.

"Nah, leave it with the mech. It's gotta stay with the disruptor. Security and such. Standard procedure." They've got standard procedure for taking in deserters? That's... okay. Whatever. She doesn't need her things just yet, and it's not like she has anything incriminating, or even embarrassing in her bag. She suppresses a smile at the memory of one of the younger recruits and her teddy bear. Seriously. They'll start bringing in toddlers next... they probably would, if they could get away with it. Were the Monster resurfacing with any greater frequency, they probably could, too.

Careful not to put her weight on the injured leg, the girl shuffles over to Amari by the exit, enviously eyeing the rocket launcher in the woman's grip.

"Nervous?" probes Tracer a moment before the ramp opens.

 _Why?_ "Excited." She flashes the veteran a winning smile. "It's Overwatch."

"I know, right?" The woman beams. "I remember when I got in. As a pilot, at first, and next thing I knew, I was being assigned to the strike team with the biggest n' baddest on Earth. Felt bonkers for accepting. Still did it." Why? Wasn't that a promotion?

"How do you mean?" She asks as they descend the ramp, and onto the sun-baked landing, pressing their pace as much as she's able in her eagerness to get away from the abundance of open space.

"I was just a pilot. I mean, I knew how to shoot, but just wasn't up to par, really. Got in cause of this, mostly. I had _unique qualifications,_ was what Commander said." The woman taps the glowing contraption on her chest before continuing. "Saved my life so many times I stopped counting."

"Oh." That's... P2W's a way to progress too, Hana supposes. "Anything I should know about it?" The zipping around part is obvious enough, but that's all she really knows.

It takes Tracer a few seconds before she replies, the time she spent having a silent conversation with Amari over Hana's head.

"In short? It can speed up or reverse my time." _Wait._

"Reverse?" Cheats.

"Only for myself. Got half my face blown off, once. Backed up a few seconds and was back at it again." Tracer announces, her smile somehow both proud and embarrassed. Hana thinks she understands – in the _finally beat a boss_ way. "Learned a lot since then. Don't really fancy getting blown apart on regular basis." Yeah... what a terrible fate, having a save point IRL.

The younger girl returns the smile without speaking, not trusting herself not to sound scathing.

"Speaking of gear-" the British woman continues as they enter the safety of rock carved walls. "I checked over your machine while you were asleep." Does she go through people's laundry, too? "Say, do the snack slots come in with the original or did you mod it in?"

A snort escapes Hana's mouth, her mood making a U turn in spite of both her leg and the steadily rising churn in her stomach. "Industrial-made. I heard they added those in after some older pilots started doing it themselves." She doesn't know which year is responsible for that, but they're all heroes in her books. Actual heroes too, probably, with medals for services rendered and honour guard at their burials. There is one ex-pilot that might know, she'll send him a donation with an ask on his stream, some day.

"Cool. We could bring some stuff to our planes, but never add anything. You know, I wonder if I could pilot that machine of yours." No. No, she couldn't, Hana not letting her being the least important factor here. There's a reason there aren't any active older pilots, or gamers, for that matter.

"Maybe if you beat me at osu." Good luck with that. She might not be at the very top of the chart any more, but 0.3% behind it isn't all that bad.

"Um..."

"I'll show you later. It's fun." She will. Nothing like playing to the beat of her favourite songs. Restoring her playlists might take some time, though, given the thousands of positions on them. "Uh, when you're free, I mean."

"It's a game, right?" Hana nods to the Brit's inquiry. "Sure thing, then. I bet Rein's gonna want in on it too."

"Rein?"

"She means Reinhardt." Answers Amari in her comrade's stead.

Hana works her mouth for a moment, before promptly clicking her teeth to trap the squeeing building up inside her. It must show, going by the Egyptian's amused smirk. But who cares! She's going to meet Reinhardt! Work beside him! How many people can claim to know a living legend? If Tracer can be called famous, then Reinhardt is of the larger-than-life calibre! The man was thrown into hell time and time again, only to emerge victorious every single time. The knight hit sixty some time ago, and the last she checked – he's still crusading all around the world! Hana's own skills are epic, but she's under no illusion she could survive that long.

Granted, the man never squared off against the Monster, but he fought other omnics all across the world since the very beginning of the war. He earned more pre-mortem medals than the entire MEKA programme! It didn't even occur to her that he could be joining them, not with him having already left the organisation once.

And now she hears he's into games, too? This is gonna be so awesome!

It's only her dragging leg that contains her bounce to an unnoticeable level. Outwardly, she says:

"Any other big-shots joining up?" It'll do to have an advance warning. If she just saw Reinhardt in the base one day... well.

"Who knows?" Tracer speaks up. "We sent word to the old guard and a few new candidates. Only some responded, so yeah it's mostly us, vets. Mercy and Winston are already here." Mercy Hana knows of – her image goes well with her name, easy to remember. Winston though... "I know Genji is coming back, too."

Well that tells her nothing - who's Genji? But more importantly, the person who contacted her was named Winston. Tracer says they're an old member, so why can't she place their face?

"Speaking of." Amari nods in the direction of the – whoa. Hana stops dead in her tracks.

That's... a giant monkey. A gorilla. A suit-wearing gorilla. With glasses.

An old, dim light comes online at the back of the girl's head. Because yeah, there was a gorilla on Overwatch's strike team. The Moon one, they're supposed to possess intelligence on par with humans, or something close. It's a wonder nobody has yet took it upon themselves to clean them off from the moon. Humanity's already suffering consequences of tin-men getting uppity, they don't need another remake of Planet of the Apes, this time set in reality.

It'd be enough to slip in a drone and poison the water reserves – it'd be a bitch to clean it again, but still way less expensive than sending an expedition. Sure, it's an omnic tactic, but it's not like they'd be killing innocents, or even people, for that matter. All of those died when the animals broke out. What a beautiful exception from the rule – here it is, the only space gorilla in existence who refused to murder people – and so ran away instead of dying in a hopeless battle, then ended up joining Overwatch.

...Huh.

The pilot's train of thought is broken when she's momentarily blinded by Tracer's light, with the woman herself already hanging off the approaching ape's massive arm. Friends then - of course. Even the worst asses in her team held no grudges after their first deployment. It took Hana just a few months before she could honestly call all her remaining teammates friends, and those two fought together for how long?

The girl slows down a bit, letting the dark-skinned woman by her side reach the gorilla first, and easing some of the tension in her limping leg.

"Winston." Amari's voice is warm, if still a bit terse.

"Hello Fareeha." The gorilla responds in what sounds like an embarrassed tone. Is it the same for monkeys and humans? The expressions it makes look exceptionally familiar, almost human, but not quite right. It sounds male, is it male? Winston's a male name, right?

...

Wait. Wait, Winston!? The Winston that wrote her?

Hana narrows her eyes, trying to reconcile the giant before her with the image of the person she had in her mind – that of a curt, professional officer. Oh man, having a monkey officer. If her team had survived they'd have choked laughing.

She straightens out as Winston's gaze falls upon her, and snaps an approximation of her usual salute, not quite able to get it right without putting equal weight on both her legs.

"Um." The giant freezes in front of her with an extended hand, retracting it a second afterwards and returning her gesture. "It's good to see you in person, Miss Song." Damn but is it weird to hear it speak.

"Likewise, sir."

"Please," it makes to scratch his head, but abandons the notion halfway through. "Just Winston will do." Well, her patron – she still can't get over the fact that she got invited to Overwatch by a gorilla – certainly seems less composed in person than over a written conversation. Unless reading an ape is completely different from reading a person, Hana can easily imagine the giant agonising over every sentence of the letters it wrote, and for much different reasons than Hana herself, who simply never learned to write formal correspondence in English.

"Winston, then!" She foregoes her increasingly painful pose and with a radiant smile, extends her hand to the ape, like it originally wanted. It seems like a good move, too, what with the gorilla relaxing a bit and returning... probably a smile, she hopes it is. Though she finds the idea of having her hand bitten off for misreading a monkey's expression somewhat humorous.

The enormous palm's grip is surprisingly gentle, still, Hana has no trouble imagining it easily closing around her arm or head, and effortlessly ripping it off. It must weigh at least as much as she does.

"I'm glad you've accepted our offer." Well, it's nice to hear that someone appreciates the fact she signed a death warrant on herself the moment she stepped onto their ship. Desertion is one thing, delivering cutting-edge tech into foreign hands is something else entirely.

"Glad to be here." Maybe she can do something more meaningful with the reminder of her life than to give it away for a medal.

"Well then," the ape continues. "We had originally planned to give you a tour of the base. But given your current... condition, I think it's best we skip right to the infirmary."

(-)

Mercy, Hana notes, cuts far less a dashing figure without her suit. The girl isn't sure why it came to her as such a surprise. It's not like she wears her own gear all the time, either. She probably wouldn't have recognized the woman out on the streets like that, even with all the posters she'd seen of her. Given, Westerners all look alike to her, so maybe she's not the best person to pass judgement here.

The girl quietly hisses as the blonde removes the last of the blood-red foam from the hole in her leg, tearing away the forming scabs along with it. The sensation is enough to make her stomach cramps feel pleasant in comparison. She takes a deep breath when Mercy puts her tools away, and forcefully uncurls her fingers from around the bed's edge to wipe the sweat off her brow.

At least the bleeding has slowed down to a trickle. Hana was beginning to feel somewhat faint by the time Captain Amari was done dressing her injury, back on the ship, though that was likely due to having the woman shove the XStat halfway into Hana's leg.

"Now, hold still," The older woman says. "It will burn a bit."

Hana bites back her What does she look like, ten? She knows how peroxide works. She doesn't have to be tooooo-holy fuck!

That's- that can't be peroxide. Pure spirit - must be. She knows the damn difference!

Mercy looks up at her, as if asking for permission to perform the torture to the other side of the wound. How very polite, as if she'd stop if Hana said no. It's all she can do to nod and clench her eyes shut, determined for the tears welling in them not to fall as the doctor continues her work.

F-fuck. Is- is she trying to disinfect the wound, or burn it out with liquid fire?

The pilot wrenches her wet eyelids open to see Mercy's stare boring into her, a frown creasing the blonde's brows.

"You disinfected the wound, right?" No, she's a stupid kid who wouldn't know any better!

"Yes ma'am. We did everything by the book, me and captain Amari." For some reason, the woman's frown deepens even further.

"It seems like I'll have to check the medkits on the ship, then." What? "I'm sorry, I should've done that before, but things have been... hectic." What does that-

"It's fine." Whatever it is that's wrong. Can they just move on?

"If it makes you feel any better, you're far more composed than many of the old agents used to be. Soldiers, I swear. Can walk with a bullet in their knee, but handling needles is just too much to ask."

It's an effort, but the girl doesn't smile. No matter what the onlookers would say.

"Anyone I know?"

"I couldn't say." Mercy replies with a wicked smirk of her own. "Doctor confidentiality." Heh. Right. How many embarrassing stories must the woman have, Hana wonders. She also wonders if this confidentiality thing also extends to her old comrades. Best she stays cordial. It's always good to be on doctors' good side, regardless.

They both keep silent as Mercy deftly works on closing the pilot's wound, not looking away for a moment, then finally injecting her with a painkiller once she finishes drying the jagged flesh. Compared to all the tender care the blonde has administered, the needle barely evokes a twitch from the girl as it slides into her skin. Just for stitches, then, that's a relief. It means they're almost done, and indeed, all the medic does before reaching for the thread is applying some sort of balm directly onto her injury.

It's always an interesting disconnect to see the needle and thread going through her skin, while feeling none of it happen. She wonders what it's like, stitching skin together – using all those – she doesn't even know the names of the tools - on actual living people. Why, had she not already discovered the love of her life, she might've been tempted to try and get into college to pursue a degree in medicine. A pity about the high school requirement. Useless thing. Fat load of help it was to the others, in the end.

"Done." Mercy announces standing up and removing her latex gloves after tying the last loop, just as feeling begins returning into Hana's numbed skin. The woman is... precise. Either that or they're having a shortage of painkillers. "I'll have to manually take them out, I'm afraid. I'm not sure if the wound will close completely by tomorrow, so it's better to stay on the safe side. Do you have any questions?" By tomorrow? What was in that balm? Magic? The shortest it took back home was four days for something like this... unless the guys were simulating to get an extra day or two off. Totally possible with the lazy asses - pure skill and no dedication.

"Will it scar?" She eventually asks after rolling her pantleg down. Shaving her legs is already a challenge with her current collection.

"It shouldn't. As long as you refrain from any strenuous activity until tomorrow, that is. It'd be best if you spend the rest of the day relaxing. So no tour – the base is built vertically, too many stairs."

A scowl twists the girl's features. She needs to know the layout of the place.

"But I feel fine?" Mostly. The inside of her leg still aches some, but it's nothing compared to what it felt like before.

"For now, yes. However, the replacement tissue-" That's what the gel is? Cool. "-will start taking soon. Some movement is not out of question, but it'd be detrimental for your recovery. I don't suppose you want to prolong it by another day or two?" Her gaze becomes distant for just a moment, and a small, fond smile blossoms on her lips. "Someone who ignored my advice once described it to me as feeling _like having thorns under your_ skin, for hours on end." How do thorns feel like? The most time she spent around vegetation would be during combat scenarios, and that was always inside her MEKA. A concrete jungle suits her just fine, thank you.

"Sooo, it'll hurt."

"So it'll hurt, _a lot._ Worse yet, it'd delay the healing process." Ugh, fine, whatever. One day isn't _that_ long, she'll just have to get a map, a 3D one if possible. What is it with good medicine being bitter? The next thing she knows she'll need crutches to-

"-I won't need crutches, will I?" Hana isn't sure what the blonde finds so humorous about her question as to snort. Some doctor thing?

"Nothing like that." She answers, stretching her shoulders and backing away towards her desk. "Just taking it easy for the day will be enough. Honestly, given the night you'd had, I'd recommend it either way. Treat it as R&R" Somehow, Hana suspects that she and the doctor have very different ideas of what R&R should look like. Coming back alive is reason for a party! A LAN party! She'll have to ask who around here plays games, later. She has yet to see a military base without a gaming console, and she's not talking about the pilots' own.

"Can I shower with it?"

"Preferably not now. Wait until the tissue becomes pink, which should take between eight and ten hours. Unless you absolutely have to?" Unless what - she pissed herself?

"Just wondering." She shrugs. It's a nice commodity, showers, but hardly a necessity. She went for far, far longer than a day without bathing – there were better things to spend money on. "Uh, what now?"

"Now, I'm going to ask you to fill this form." The woman states as she picks a tablet off her desk and hands it over to Hana. "We'll do actual, in-depth tests tomorrow, but I need what's in this as soon as possible. Normally, I'd just request the data by official channels but- well." _Well_ is right.

"No problem," she replies before starting on the file Mercy opened, as the woman seats herself by her desk.

The document seems standard enough. Name. Blood type. Date of birth – heh, suuure. Illness history - like she's gonna remember that one, she never caught anything infectious, at least. Vaccination... standard? She never skipped those, not intentionally, anyway. Height... shit, she should probably add herself the last centimetre or two... people aren't supposed to grow at nineteen years of age. Surgeries; replacement lenses and uh- what's the word... elbow reconstruction. Do implants count? No wait, there's a separate bracket for that.

Tpft- pregnancies? lol. It's- well, okay, maybe it's not entirely out there. After all, Mina got out of the service that way. Way easier than desertion – if a girl's actually trying to get out of combat. She only has to figure out how to get rid of her hormonal implant and there, good to go, good luck have fun.

Nope. No allergies that she's aware of...

Yeah no, she's got nothing on her family medical history. Although she finds the prospect of writing _chronically dead_ in the bracket amusing. It's a semi-official document though, she shouldn't mess around with these. In any case, she's healthy right now – the doctor said on the last check-up. Hey that's right, the army must have her parents' records and never said anything, so she can probably cross genetic diseases out.

Now, what's this?

"Uh, question." She calls out to Mercy, finding the woman already looking at her. "What does next of kin mean?"

"It – it means either a family member, or someone who would act as such." Well, that's another cross-out then.

"Thanks – no, wait. Dependencies? Like, addictions?"

"Yes." The woman taps her fingers against the desk, contemplating, before continuing. "Do you need help with translation?"

Does she? Hana quickly skims through the remaining questions.

"No, thanks, I'm good." Hmm. Naaah, gaming's not an addiction. And even if it were, she has to keep her APM sharp if she wants to remain useful. Besides, she hasn't pulled a full twenty hour day since she got drafted. She can't lie, the thought of doing a full multi match of EUX does sound amazing, though. A shame she can't use her account, she spent so much money on all the DLCs and it's all fated to rot away alongside all her other games. All her premiums, the pre-orders...

…

What was the pay Winston wrote about? She kind of skipped over that part and then had to delete the message. More than her army salary, that much she remembers. Give it a few months and she should be back on her legs, again. Essentials first, single-players later.

"K. Done." The girl cheerfully announces before carefully (just in case) pushing herself off the bed, only returning the tablet to the doctor after confirming her leg won't buckle underneath her.

The woman thanks her with a gentle smile, before examining the questionnaire, with Hana hanging by the desk, experimentally putting more pressure on her stitched shin. It feels... good. Itches a little, but it has a long way to go before becoming actually painful - maybe when the painkillers wear off completely.

"Artificial lenses?" Huh? Oh. "What happened?"

"Short-sightedness. I used to just wear glasses, but they were like, five and six?" She answers, pointing to the respective eyes. "Army needs pilots, and pilots gotta have good sight." Providing which is easier and cheaper than finding and training fresh players. It's cheaper still than building new MEKAs in the place of those wrecked by underperforming pilots.

"Ah. Alright, this should be everything for now, then." The blonde announces, putting down the tablet. "I already sent word to Winston while you were busy that his tour will have to wait. He and Lena are having lunch in the mess. Which reminds me, you should eat something." She probably should...

"Thanks, but I'll pass. My stomach kind of hurts." Hana realises her mistake the second she finishes speaking, with the frown returning onto Mercy's face.

"Why didn't you say anything? How bad is it?"

"No it's not- I mean, it's nothing bad. Guess the yesterday's dinner was pushing expiration date." _Again_. Major said they checked and double-checked, but it just keeps happening. It wasn't only her issue, either.

The woman sighs. "Miss Song, I still need to know these things. I could've unknowingly given you something which could cause more harm than good. So in the future, if anything at all is wrong, tell me. That's why I'm here, do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am!" Sheesh, it's just a little stomach ache. People stopped dying from things like that decades ago.

"Good. You said it's mild, you don't need painkillers?" The pilot shakes her head. She has her own pills in her small baggage - she doesn't need her new doctor giving her crap for using up too many, like her old one used to. Makes it easier for everyone. "Now, I still expect you to eat, only something light. How does a yoghurt sound?"

"Good. Sounds good." Unless it's that all-natural, tasteless crap. She'll take strawberry, thanks. "Um... where's the mess?"

The woman appears confused for a split second, before a sheepish smile blooms on her lips.

"I'm sorry, I appear to need a coffee to wake me up." Hmpf! Coffee. Please. Why do people keep drinking that bitter filth with energy drinks around, Hana will never understand. "Come," the blonde says as she rises from her chair. "I'll show you myself."


	3. Chapter 3

Hana's first night at the Rock is one she's going to remember for a long time. Not for the many exciting things that failed to happen, no. It's simply a side-effect of her mind refusing to drift off to sleep. Not entirely surprising – she's never slept well in new environments - but it's a bitch to deal with all the same, being a second night in a row without sleep. It'd be easier if that fucking  _thing_  didn't ask her about it out of the blue, the second hour into her tossing on the bed. She did not neglect to tell it that, either.

Insanity is audacity's sister, and there's enough audacity in trying to resurrect Overwatch to fill a city worth of people, but to allow a program this much operating freedom is disconcerting. A criminal act on par with high treason in many parts of the world; Korea at the forefront of it. Hana didn't think she'd add another capital crime to her name so soon. Creating omnics, harbouring omnics, withholding information about omnics. All treason.

For what it's worth, it brings some comfort to her heart that the AI hasn't managed to crack her personal files so thoroughly as to find out her original birthdate. Programs in particular tend to keep themselves up-to-date, so perhaps the billions-upon-billions poured into cyberwarfare are finally cashing in. The thought makes it just a little bit easier to stand the distinct lack of her pistol anywhere within reach.

What history classes she'd had in her time never mentioned anything about Overwatch using an AI. Maybe it's something they teach later-on, but Hana suspects she wouldn't find any information about it even in the college-level textbooks, in a similar fashion to how the available information on the MEKA initiative doesn't mention the age of its latest recruits.

She wonders what European or American books say about Overwatch. History is the one school subject she always found fascinating – not the parts she'd had in classes all those years ago, naturally. Those were as dry and uninteresting as one could present them. But she's played enough games to know it's nowhere near as boring as her teacher would have had her believe.

What will her part in history be? Will she be mentioned as one of the founding members of the new Overwatch, or forgotten, buried under the label of deserter? It depends on their success, probably. It's the winners who she's always played as, and the losers who she always killed; usually omnics, or criminals. And that's what they technically are right now, aren't they? Criminals harbouring a dangerous program.

A groan dies in her throat, and she reaches for the clock she received (she really needs to get a new phone) to check the hour.

5:47

Fuck. When did the doc say she wanted to see her? 8 AM? 8 AM. Two more hours of nothing: Hana's greatest enemy. A war to fight in -  _that_ she can survive. To have nothing on her hands is a torture she's simply unaccustomed to. Old phones were dirt cheap even in the camps. Old tech, old games, old anything. Now, fresh things - of the biological variety in particular - those still are much less easily available. Strawberries were one thing in particular she'd only had a chance to try after being drafted. She could eat for a week on the money a kilo of them cost. Ridiculous. She can get more chocolate for that, and honestly she much prefers the taste of the latter. Fills the stomach better, too.

An ugly grimace spreads on Hana's face. She's been fighting her thoughts down all night, but her mind just won't let her sleep, with every last memory provoking another. That won't do.

The girl sits up, wondering. Much as she'd like to fall asleep the next minute, it'll hardly charge her batteries if she needs to get up in less than two hours again; might as well start her day. She'd normally be having a morning drill right about now, anyway. Well, not- not quite now, time zones and all, but around this hour.

Given she's not supposed to exert herself, she can probably skip on some exercise, and start with a shower in the reverse of her daily routine. They need to set something up though, since apparently, everyone just sorta... starts the day at around the same time. No schedule, no pressure. Not an emergency issue, or anything like that. That's what the monkey said, but Mercy laughed at that. An inside joke of theirs? Doesn't matter. Point is, she needs the drills to not go off the rails with her training, and she will without a schedule, eventually. Same with food. A sharp mind can only exist in a healthy body.

That's what the pro's' coaches always say.

That's not today, though. Today she can start with a shower and then- and then she can wait for her appointment with Mercy, and have that tour of the base later. 2 hours to burn.

...They gotta have some spare machines lying around, right? If she could find a working tablet in the trash, then how difficult can it be to acquire one in a military base? She'd be fine with anything, really, it's just the internet that she needs to pass time. Tonight would've been so much easier, shorter, if she hadn't neglected such necessities.

So. First, a shower to  _finally_  get the grime off her skin, and then it's a hunt for some poor, lonely PC. There's always her mecha if she doesn't find anything. There are only a few games on it, but it'll do for now. In theory, it could even run Starcraft, but playing without mouse and keyboard would be a pain, not pleasure. Oh. And she can't use her account. How fun. She hasn't had the time to smurf since the draft, and she's never seen an European at Worlds. Should be EZ to climb.

She hops down from her bunk and checks her leg before stepping into a pair of oversized, orange crocs Tracer (!) has gifted her. Her friends would've never let her live this down if they saw her. Still, her only footwear being part of her bloodied suit calls for desperate measures with the coat of dust covering most surfaces of the base.

The pilot grabs the clothing bag she's also been gifted. Old Overwatch uniforms, all of it, none of it actually fits her, but she's hardly picky about those things. Sure, it'd be nice having clothes her size, but complaining about a size (or two, most of it is two) of difference would be petty. The stale smell is hardly an issue, either. In fact, compared to what she used to wear when she was on her own, or even her uniforms in the field, it's downright pleasant. It's all temporary, one way or another. Either they grow and establish the new Overwatch with new and nice things, or they fail - and then it's a death sentence for her, either in a battle or by a firing squad. She hopes it'd be a firing squad and not something meaningless like poison or a noose. What a pathetic death that would be, otherwise, after risking everything for it to mean something. Even less meaningful than being another log to be thrown under the Monster's feet.

Heh. At least she'd go down in history as the first MEKA pilot to be executed. It'd be more remembrance than her team ever got.

Hana fishes out her new training clothes from the bag, well,  _new_ , before grabbing a towel and making her way out of her too-empty quarters. It feels strange to have a whole room to herself again. The last time she'd had one would have to be… back in Busan. Back before everything. She wonders if it'll last. The room has beds for eight people; this place must've been lively before Overwatch fell.

Alright. Now, where to? In a true military fashion, every direction looks exactly the same. The door was on her left when she first entered, right?

Probably. Dammit, she needs to sleep.

"Miss Song?" A synthetic voice startles the girl out of her reverie. Hana doesn't even bother trying to hide her scowl. Of course the blasted thing hasn't quit spying on her. Where are the damn cameras?

"Mwo?" she almost doesn't spit out.

"If you're headed for showers, they are located the other way."

She briefly considers going in the direction she picked anyway, just to get it across she doesn't appreciate the surveillance, but assuming it'll even understand her behaviour might well be giving the program too much credit. After all, it didn't get the memo when she outright told it to get lost.

Likely a part of that security protocol Tracer mentioned. Though Hana feels secure in betting her hand the thing is spying on everyone else, and then some.

Without another word, Hana makes her way to the showers. She never asked the  _thing_  for help. Her thanks would ring false to the most mediocre voice recognition software, anyway, and this thing has to have a whole server room somewhere, with a wardrobe worth of hardware for pattern recognition. The reminder makes her shudder. Omnics are abominations, but at least they have bodies; hard to destroy, reparable even, but bodies still. If they lose their hard drive, they're done for. Programs though... she could burn one server to ash and they'd just jump to another, suffering only from a loss in computation speed. They could copy themselves onto another server, into an omnic, even onto the internet, leaving Hana able only to stew in helplessness.

She hopes they'll have a hacker on-site to keep an eye on that beast, and soon. Hana doesn't fancy living in a haunted house without an exorcist.

It takes her a few minutes of wandering, but the girl does eventually find the showers. Split by gender and nothing else. That's a flimsy curtain less of privacy than she's gotten used to. MEKA might be a military, but there were some accommodations made for the pilots, an approximation of shower cubicles among them. From what Hana gathered it was quite a recent concession on the MEKA programme's part. Strange, though, given the many ways in which they were conditioned into soldiers, that the brass would draw the line at communal showers. The regulars told her they had no such luxury as privacy during showers - quite like here, only without splitting them by gender. Not much of a problem, that, given she'd seen a grand total of zero women outside the teams in the base; resource management, she's sure. The army draft wasn't expanded even during the worst of the war - would be hard to sustain the war with a fifth of the baby-makers biting the dust, stacking effects and such.

For her part, she'd just been glad to have hot water to clean herself with at the end of the day - well, most days. But what is a three day deployment compared to what she's gotten used to in the camps? It's nice to be clean, but no more than a luxury. One she's going to indulge in however much she can.

A thought crosses her mind as she strips; is the AI still observing her? It's not the place, the possibility doesn't bother her worse than the thing watching her anywhere else in the base, it's just a machine, after all. She's just wondering. What was its designation again?

"Athena?" Silence. "Athena, you there?" Blessed silence.

Then again, it wouldn't surprise Hana for the programme to choose to remain silent in spite of having the capacity to spy on her, it never hurts to suspect the worst of omnics. She'll have to ask someone, but for now? It's time to indulge! Ooh. And it only takes a second for the water to warm up. Nice. It's like this place wasn't built for soldiers.

A smile stretches on the girl's lips when she thinks back to all the times she traded a wash for charging a battery. People don't understand. Which is worse? Stinking like a gutter she went through to find something of value, or going insane with boredom, day after day, with no end to it all in sight - just nothing, over and over with the only routine in her life being a free dinner to distract her for half an hour each day. What a waste of resources it'd have been to spend her rarely existent funds on non-essentials. And people said she had a problem, when it's them who wasted everything they had to smell nice for a few hours before getting dirty again.

The camps by the sea have it easier. Sea water might not be ideal, but salt beats the grime any day.

Which makes her think, they must have a filtering engine here somewhere. The shore is not so far away as to make using pipes impractical, but she can't imagine a facility like this not being self-sufficient in that regard. Even they had their own well at the base, and the barracks are nowhere close to this place, even at a glance.

Even the damn showers are better. Water aside, try as she might, Hana can't get the room to fill with steam. They'd do this every night with her old team, the air sometimes getting so thick she could barely see the fingers of her outstretched arm. In contrast, even as she turns a few other showers on, the air remains stubbornly clear. Someone must've cleaned the ventilation since the Overwatch was revived, or kept it clean before. Another thing to investigate. The shafts she could spot are big enough to fit a cat in, at most, meaning one would have to use a bot, or have an automatic fleet of them, to keep them clean. Chemical attacks have long been one of the favourites among the omnic terror tactics. To have an automated system like that is an unnecessary risk. Something to bring up later.

Hana takes her time scrubbing the sweat off her skin. She runs the water scalding hot, then turns it almost icy cold and back again a few times, messing around with the settings (they have settings!) all the while. She's hardly short on time. She only stops when she does after her still tender leg starts threatening to give out from beneath her. Right. Wonders of medicine only go so far, and Mercy did tell her to take it easy.

She throws on her baggy clothes after drying off before making her way out the showers, every step accented with a wet squelch of her crocks.

"Miss Song." She suppresses a full-body twitch. Great, one step outside and it's already there. "You spent over thirty-three minutes in the showers. Is everything alright?" Ugh.

"What, you don't know?" She mocks it, already on the move to where she thinks her room is.

"There are no electronic devices present within the private areas of the facility." Ah. So soldiers' quarters are not considered a private space here, either, eh? Some things, it seems, are universal. Now if only it'd been a person watching her.

"Miss Song-" the thing starts once more once the girl starts moving again.

"D.Va."

"D.Va, then. Let me repeat my question. Are you alright?"

Will it shut up if she tells it?

"Yes."

She almost becomes convinced that it's finally let her be when the grating voice sounds out from a nearby wall again.

"I assure you that I hold no ill intent towards you." No, sure, it just stalks her every move so that she doesn't stumble and fall. "Whatever experiences you've had with omnics before, I am here to help Overwatch, and by extension, you."

Hana's bites down on her lip, hard enough to bruise, and still she barely keeps her mouth shut. Keep it together, she's got an impression to make, and giving in to its goading will do her no good here. And it was such a nice shower, too. So of course the program couldn't just let her enjoy her morning for any longer than necessary to continue this charade of civility. Maybe she could just go back to the showers? While she can't be sure the abomination isn't lying, it should leave her alone there, for the sake of appearances, if nothing else.

Yeah, hiding in the bathroom from a disembodied voice… she's a soldier, dammit! A deserter, but still! She didn't run from the Monster, she won't run from a ghost!

Instead, Hana simply keeps her silence as she walks back to her quarters. If the AI expects her to answer to anything other than a direct question, or even that outside of absolute necessity, it's got another thing coming. Besides, silence is all she needs to communicate exactly what she thinks of its words. Perhaps it gets the memo, as this time the thing keeps quiet. Or maybe it froze on expecting an answer?

Who gives a shit?

She neatly lays out her dirty clothes on the same chair she hangs the towel on before throwing herself onto the bed to try and fall asleep once more - any notion of exploring gone from her mind with the AI hanging over her shoulder. It takes all of a minute before the pilot fails to keep herself from tossing and turning, with her gaze falling on the clock once again.

6:31

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You better believe I have the audacity to revive a fic with a chapter where basically nothing happens ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
